Eye have returned to My House
with not one inquiry
not one viewing
Eye have returned to The Cats
they don’t have to be
given away
Eye have returned to My Dance
at 5:00 am to Guns & Roses
Sweet Child of Mine
Eye have returned to My Art
in my cleared-out studio
cleaned out when I thought
I was moving
Eye have returned to My Writing
My house is for sale
and everything it contains
every scrap of art created by my children
every archived piece of juvenalia
from my self and my brother
every file box of family letters
every binder of plastic sheeted cards
my art, my art
spread along every wall
housed in my once-loved studio
it all has to go.
My painted doll dresser
made by my grandparents
Eye emptied out yesterday
ready to sell
and the cats, the cats
will have to find a new place
except for Astro
my biggest blackest cat
On a clear Sunday morning
at the end of summer
I sit on my not-so-famous deck
to drink my morning decaf —
The cats are out around me
and the laps of the cutting waves
and occasional distant bird calls
grace my new? existence
which Eye have been questioning
of late
The Scraggly Apple
has no leaves now — it sits bare
for the birds and me
The surf tonight has a mournful tone
perhaps the cause is my frame of mind —
a young man is gone
my daughter knew him well
his family grieves together
while I walk out mine
Jevon Link came to Eliza’s door
ten years ago on Valentine’s Day
holding a bouquet of roses
pink I think.
She dried
and painted
them.
I look at her watercolour
every morning.
Joanna Gilman Hyde 